Odin Blew Up My TV!

by Robert J. Harris

  “Trouble?” Loki exclaimed. “Trouble? You don’t get it, dollface. I invented trouble!”

  Kenny got out of the car and joined Iona. Shaking his head, he reported, “Nothing on the radio but a lot of squeals and screeches.”

  “Why don’t you two make yourselves scarce,” said Loki. “I need to go find myself a palace.”

  “Actually, sir, I’ll have to ask you to remain here,” said Iona.

  At that moment there was a gasp from the onlookers scattered about the harbour. They were all pointing upward.

  A gigantic bird had appeared in the sky. It had blazing red feathers and a wingspan as wide as a goal mouth. With an ear-splitting screech it plunged down. Squawking in panic, the gulls on the harbour wall scattered in terror.

  The winged predator landed with a thump on the roof of the police car, its talons scoring deep grooves in the paintwork.

  “This is my pal Falkior,” said Loki. “Impressive, eh?”

  “It’s damaging police property!” said Kenny.

  The great hawk let out another piercing screech and Loki nodded, as though it were delivering a message. At a signal from the god of mischief it took off again and flew out of sight.

  “I don’t understand how you can even be here, Loki,” said Lewis. “Odin told us he’d tossed you into some great cosmic pit of nothingness.”

  Loki grinned. “It’s called the Ginnungagap, The Great Nothingness That Existed Before Anything Was.”

  “How could you possibly get out of that?” Lewis asked.

  “Well, the great pit wasn’t as empty as old Odin supposed, so I had a bit of help making my escape. I also came back with enough magical power to grab your town and dump it in the middle of Vanaheim.”

  “Vanaheim?” said Lewis. “You mean the land of the gods?”

  “That’s right,” said Loki. “Plonked it down on top of Asgard and knocked those snotty gods and their city out of their world.”

  “Sir, I’m afraid you’re making absolutely no sense at all,” said Iona.

  “If you ask me,” muttered Kenny, “he’s cracked in the head.”

  Loki grunted irritably. “Let me see if I can put it in terms you mortal flea-brains might be able to grasp,” he said. “Think of Vanaheim as a billiard table and Asgard as a red ball sitting on that billiard table. This town of yours is the white ball, which I have smashed into that red ball and knocked it into a corner pocket of the table. See?”

  “But where has Asgard disappeared to then?” Lewis asked. If the other gods were truly gone, he couldn’t think of any way that Loki could be stopped.

  Loki shrugged. “Best guess – the whole city has been knocked down into Niflheim, the land of the dead. And from there, there is definitely no way back.”

  “Wow, Elvis, you two are coming out with some cosmic stuff,” said Dave. “It sounds like something out of a comic book.”

  “I wish it was just a comic, Dave,” Lewis sighed.

  The fishermen had left their boats and formed a belligerent gang. “Officers,” one of them said to Kenny and Iona, “if you need any help sorting out these troublemakers, you can count on us.”

  The fishermen were a burly crew, but Lewis was sure they would be no match for the armed wolflings. Growling, the ferocious guards now drew their swords out of their sheaths, which made an ugly rasping sound.

  “Hold it, boys,” said Loki, raising a hand to restrain them. “This could get messy.”

  The wolflings lowered their weapons but glowered menacingly at the fishermen and the police.

  “Dealing with a whole town of numbskull mortals is going to be a big headache,” Loki continued. “There’s another way.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sliver of crystal about the size of a pencil. Light gleamed inside it, matching the wicked glint in Loki’s eye.

  Kenny glanced at the crystal suspiciously. “That could be regarded as an offensive weapon, sir,” he advised.

  “Offensive?” Loki repeated mockingly. “You don’t know the half of it.”

  As he spoke the light in the crystal grew brighter.

  “Hey, look at the mist!” Dave exclaimed.

  Lewis looked out over the water and saw that the great mass of mist was now sparkling with an unearthly light and rolling swiftly towards them, as though drawn to the crystal. The first billow of glittering vapour engulfed the fishermen, who immediately froze on the spot.

  “Hey, what have you done to them?” Iona demanded.

  She was just reaching for the truncheon on her belt when the mist reached the two officers, who instantly became as still as statues, their faces fixed in an expression of stunned surprise.

  Puzzled, Dave moved towards them for a closer look.

  Lewis grabbed the back of his t-shirt and restrained him. “No, Dave, we have to get away from the mist!” He released his grip and started uphill towards town.

  “Yeah, I think you’re right, Elvis,” Dave agreed.

  But before he could move, one of the wolflings seized him by his spiky hair and hauled him into the mist.

  Another wolfling started after Lewis, who, spinning about, kicked a pile of lobster creels into the path of his pursuer. The wolfling’s feet got tangled in the baskets and he fell flat on his muzzle.

  Lewis scrambled up the path to where the walls of the ruined cathedral loomed over him. Behind him the onlookers, who hadn’t moved quickly enough to escape the mist, were frozen like statues.

  Lewis could feel the mist closing in on him fast. Looking around desperately for a means of escape, he spotted a bicycle lying on the grass below the cathedral wall. He heaved it upright and jumped on as the mist billowed towards him.

  He pushed off and pedalled furiously towards town. Swerving round the front of the cathedral, he swept past the war memorial while the rolling mist chased after him like a hungry beast.

  5. THE RUNAWAY MIST

  As Greg and Susie headed up Market Street they passed several people shaking their mobile phones, trying to make them work. A young man raged futilely at a cash machine that was flashing the words ‘Magic Beans Only’ at him.

  As they turned the corner into Union Street, they passed two cars that had come together nose to nose, with both drivers cursing their malfunctioning satnavs.

  “Everything’s going completely loopy,” Susie commented.

  “That’s a sure sign Loki’s behind it,” said Greg.

  They turned right into North Street past the old Salvation Army Hall. Looking down towards the cathedral they saw people hurrying up from the harbour. Among them was Tommy Wright, one of Greg’s classmates. He would have run right past them if Greg hadn’t grabbed his arm.

  “Hang on, Tommy, where’s the fire?” Greg asked.

  Tommy gave him a wild-eyed look. “M-m-m-monsters down at the harbour,” he stammered. “Like something out of a computer game. And the mist! It’s freezing folk!” He pulled loose of Greg’s grasp and ran off like he was being chased by a lion.

  “Did you see Lewis there?” Susie called after him, but Tommy didn’t stop to answer.

  Even as she spoke, on the other side of the road, a sparkling grey mist rolled over the Younger Hall, enveloping its columns and windows. A man stepped out of the door into the mist and froze in his tracks.

  “Uh-oh! This is serious!” said Susie.

  “Don’t just stand there, Spinny!” Greg exclaimed. “It’s coming right for us!”

  They spun round and ran back the way they’d come. Glancing over his shoulder, Greg saw the mist rising up to the rooftops as it poured down Union Street. Anyone caught in its path was instantly paralysed.

  Greg and Susie ducked down Logie’s Lane as the mist filled Market Street behind them.

  “It’s gaining on us!” cried Susie as they emerged into Church Square in front of the town library.

  “We need a place where it can’t reach us,” said Greg.

  The sound of ethereal voices drew their attention to Holy Trinity Chur
ch, which formed one side of the square, its spire soaring above them. Pinned to the side door facing them was a poster advertising a Norwegian choir who would be performing there that night.

  “Look,” said Greg, grabbing Susie by the arm, “we’ll duck in here and claim sanctuary or whatever they call it.”

  “Greg, I don’t think…” Susie began, but Greg was already dragging her inside.

  He slammed the door behind them and backed away. At the far end of the church a large man in a suit was conducting the choir, who all stared at the intruders but kept on singing.

  Mr Gillies the minister came rushing up to them, looking very vexed. “I’m happy for you to sit and listen to the choir,” he said testily, “but we simply can’t have a lot of banging and noise.”

  They recognised Mr Gillies from the times he’d addressed the school assembly.

  “Sorry, Reverend,” said Greg, “but we have to shut it out.”

  “It?” the minister repeated in a baffled voice. “It… out?”

  “The mist,” Susie explained. “It’s spreading over the whole town.”

  The minister folded his arms and tried to look ominous. “If this is your idea of a prank,” he said, “I am not amused.”

  “It’s no prank,” said Susie, pointing. “Look!”

  Mist was seeping around the edges of the door and spreading over the wall. It swelled into a cloud and expanded towards them.

  Greg spat out a word that was not appropriate for church as he and Susie dashed up the aisle.

  Mr Gillies had just started to shout after them when the mist wrapped itself around him. He froze, with his mouth gaping open.

  The mist flooded the church to their right, forcing Greg and Susie to veer left. They darted for a door just behind the choir. The singers fell silent as the cloud rolled towards them and the conductor just had time to cry out in Norwegian before they were engulfed.

  “He’s probably complaining about the Scottish weather,” said Greg as he and Susie bashed through the door and into the passage beyond.

  The passage turned a corner to the right. Racing down it, they barged through another door into a storeroom full of stacked chairs and shelves crammed with hymn books.

  “This is a dead end!” Greg groaned as he shut the door on the mist, which was rolling down the corridor after them.

  “No, it’s not,” said Susie, leaping up onto a stack of chairs. “There’s a window up here.”

  She threw open the high window and clambered out, dropping to the other side. She landed on her feet, nimble as a cat, on the front lawn. Greg scrambled after her and flopped down on the grass.

  “Come on,” said Susie, helping him up.

  The lawn was enclosed by a low iron railing. They swung over it easily and landed in South Street. Behind them the mist swirled around the walls of Holy Trinity and snaked its way up the spire.

  “The only place safe from that stuff would be a sealed bank vault,” said Greg.

  “I don’t think any bank is going to let you just walk into their vault,” said Susie.

  “Don’t be so sure,” said Greg. “A few words from The Verbal Ninja might persuade them.”

  “No time for that, Greg,” Susie replied. “We’d better keep running.”

  They pelted across the street, heading for Queen’s Gardens. At this point they weren’t the only ones running. A sense of alarm had finally spread through the entire town and crowds of people were now trying desperately to flee the mist.

  Skirting the town hall, they raced down Queen’s Gardens to Queen’s Terrace. From here a steep, narrow brae led down to the Kinnessburn, the stream that separated the old town from the new.

  “If we can get to the bridge across the burn,” Greg gasped, “maybe this stuff won’t cross the water.”

  “I hate to say this, Greg,” said Susie, “but it did come in off the sea.”

  They started down the brae with the mist pressing close. Susie could feel the icy touch of it on the back of her neck.

  “Faster!” Greg urged.

  Then he gave a strangled cry as his foot snagged on a crooked piece of paving. Susie collided with him as he pitched forward. The next instant they both tumbled head over heels down the brae, ending up in an ungainly heap at the bottom.

  Before they could scramble to their feet they were completely engulfed in the mist’s frigid embrace.

  6. EVIL CAT

  Susie squeezed her eyes tight shut, expecting something like an electric shock as the mist took its paralysing effect. Instead all she felt was a slight chill. When she opened her eyes she saw Greg grinning at her.

  “Hey, we’re okay!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, why is that?” said Susie.

  “Maybe we’re just tougher than everybody else,” Greg suggested.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Susie, staring at her Asgardian ring. “It must be these.”

  Greg gazed at his ring too. “Becauuse Odin gave them to us?”

  “They must have some kind of power that’s protecting us,” said Susie.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” said Greg. “I didn’t fancy spending the rest of my life as a statue in somebody’s museum.”

  “Take it from me, Greg,” said Susie with a chuckle, “nobody would consider you a work of art.”

  They picked themselves up and looked around. The mist was so thick, they could barely see more than an arm’s length ahead.

  “Do you think Lewis got away from the harbour in time?” Susie wondered.

  “If he did get away, I expect he headed for home,” said Greg.

  “That’s where we’re off to then,” said Susie.

  A few steps brought them onto the bridge over the Kinnessburn. They could hear the faint trickle of the stream as they crossed over and turned right along Kinnessburn Road.

  “Hang on a second,” said Greg in an urgent whisper. “There’s somebody following us.”

  “You’re right,” Susie agreed. She could hear what sounded like footfalls behind them.

  Suddenly there came a harsh cackling noise.

  They spun round to confront their pursuer. Susie braced herself, ready to fight off something with three heads. Instead, a pair of ducks waddled past, still quacking at each other, totally unconcerned with the two humans.

  Susie heaved a sigh of relief.

  “It must be bad when we get spooked by Donald Duck,” said Greg.

  “That stuff must not affect animals,” said Susie. “And look, the sun’s breaking through.”

  The mist was thinning and in a matter of seconds the air cleared completely.

  “Well, that’s a bonus,” said Greg. “Now we can put on a bit of speed.”

  They jogged past the bowling club and up Pipeland Road, passing various people frozen in mid-stride or seated inside their stalled cars. A flock of sparrows flitted across the sky, further proof that only humans had been affected.

  “We’re probably the only people in St Andrews who can still move,” said Greg.

  They were headed along Lamond Drive when they heard a dreadful screech. It was the cry of the fiery hawk, which came swooping over the nearby rooftops.

  “Freeze!” said Greg.

  He and Susie stopped dead in their tracks, doing their best to look as if they had been paralysed like everybody else. They held their breath, not daring to move a muscle as the shadow of the bird of prey passed over them. They held their poses stiffly until the creature disappeared from view.

  “I think it’s gone,” said Greg.

  Susie relaxed and gave herself a shake. “I never thought pretending to be a tree in drama class would ever come in so handy.”

  Hurrying along, they finally reached Bannock Street, where the McBride family lived.

  “It’s just as well Mum and Dad are in Dunfermline for the day, visiting Aunt Vivian,” said Greg.

  “What, that horrible aunt of yours that nobody likes?”

  “Dad calls it a pre-emptive strike,” said Greg, “
to keep her from visiting us and staying for a week.”

  They were walking up the street when a large dog came racing past them, howling in terror. It belonged to their neighbours, the Larkins, and it was in serious trouble.

  Chasing after it, spitting and hissing, was a large ginger cat. This cat had been in so many fights it had lost tufts of fur from all over its body, and it only had one ear, which made it look even fiercer.

  “Mrs Mulheron’s cat!” said Greg as he and Susie dodged aside.

  The two pets flew past, the cat slashing with its front claws and narrowly missing the dog’s tail.

  “I hate that wee monster!” Susie exclaimed as the animals disappeared round the corner into Learmonth place.

  “I can’t believe Mrs Mulheron calls it Tiddles,” said Greg. “It should be called Fangface or Terrorclaw or something like that.”

  “My mum calls it Evil Cat,” said Susie. “It terrorises every pet in the neighbourhood.”

  “And a lot of the people too,” said Greg. “It should be declared a public enemy.”

  In the distance they heard a savage squall from the cat as it pursued the hapless dog around the block.

  Outside the McBride house a discarded bicycle lay on its side on the pavement. Halfway up the front path they saw Lewis. He was frozen in mid-step as he made a mad dash for the front door.

  They hurried over to him and Susie stared into his lifeless eyes. “Oh, no, the mist got him!”

  “The mug!” Greg exclaimed in disgust. “I told him to wear his ring, but oh no, he was scared it would turn him into a toadstool or something.”

  “If we can find his ring and stick it on his finger, maybe that will snap him out of it,” said Susie.

  “Maybe,” Greg agreed. “But we can’t leave him standing around outside with Loki’s overgrown budgie out looking for us.”

  “You grab his legs then,” said Susie, “and I’ll take his arms.”

  Lewis was as rigid as a plank and his body didn’t change position at all as they carried him into the front room and laid him down on the sofa.

  “Look at the state of him!” said Greg, shaking his head. “It’s as if he’s trying to run up to the ceiling.”